


Begin With Doubting

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [5]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Spanking, young!Hotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch has trust issues in his friendship with Rossi. His way of trying to overcome them is... not ideal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begin With Doubting

**Author's Note:**

> To believe with certainty we must begin with doubting.
> 
> Stanislaw Leszczynski

* * *

 

Rossi’s hands would have been shaking if he hadn’t been gripping the steering wheel so tightly; as it was, the knuckles were merely bone white and the nails pushed into the leather.

He was angry.

Damn, he was angry. He had known that Hotch had a mouth on him, and that he could be hurtful if he wanted to, but he hadn’t thought he could come to this.

But Hotch had been so very close to what he feared, so very cold, that Rossi for a moment had believed his words to be true or at least that Hotch meant them. And before he’d had time to do something stupid he’d left the house, not looking back at the young man.

He was speeding, and to be entirely honest he was grateful that he wasn’t in a more trafficked area; had there been cops around he would have been pulled over for sure. That thought served to calm him a little; he had no desire whatsoever to get involved in an argument with some traffic cop.

He drew a deep breath and slowed down, forcing his breathing into a smooth, slow pattern and trying to ignore the feeling of hurt in him. Because despite how furious he was with Hotch right now, he still worried. Hotch was alone at his cabin right now, and that couldn’t be good for the kid; he’d never dealt well with too much emotion.

So with a few final calming breaths, Rossi fished up his phone and pushed a few buttons. He was answered immediately.

“Leroy” a familiar voice said curtly.

“Alex,” Rossi replied, “It’s Dave. You think you could do me a favor?”

The man on the other end hesitated for a moment. “Depends on what it is, I guess,” he then said.

“Hotch is at my cabin, and I’m guessing he’s pretty torn up,” Rossi said, “Can you go there and see to him?”

There was more silence. “What happened?”

Rossi let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, again grateful that he was on such a remote road, because right now he didn’t think he could concentrate on driving enough to manage even a little traffic. “There was an argument.”

“And..?” Leroy prompted, managing the feat of sounding both patient and impatient at the same time.

“He said some things, I lost my temper and left before I did anything I’d regret,” Rossi explained. “I doubt he’s feeling very good right now; you know Hotch. And I’m not in any state of mind to deal with him. Please?”

Leroy didn’t even seem to hesitate. “Of course, Dave,” he said quickly, “But I’d like getting the whole story.”

Rossi exhaled slowly and nodded, despite that the other man couldn’t see him. “Yeah, but later, okay?”

Once again, Leroy stayed silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before he spoke softly. “How bad?” he asked and he didn’t have to clarify the question for Rossi to understand.

“Pretty bad,” he replied quietly, “I mean… _I’ll_ get over it, but you know Aaron…”

 “Yeah…” Leroy agreed slowly. “Well, don’t worry about him right now; I’ll deal with that. Worry about yourself. If you lost your temper I’m guessing he’s not the only one who’s torn up?”

Sometimes Rossi cursed that he worked with profilers, because they were too perceptive the lot of them, but then he remembered that that was a fault not only profilers had by seemed to be shared by a large number of other people. He grimaced slightly, and if he hadn’t felt obliged to keep a hand on the wheel he would have pulled it through his hair.

“Well, yes,” he said, “The kid has a mouth.”

And it was true, though it did make Rossi feel a bit better to know that Hotch’s most hurtful comments had probably only been lucky shots; the kid had seemed surprised when he managed to actually make Rossi properly angry. That meant that he first of all hadn’t really meant what he said, and second of all that he hadn’t _really_ wanted to hurt Rossi. Just what exactly he had wanted to do, however, was a bit of a mystery.

“Lawyers.” Leroy said, in agreement, Rossi thought, and he could almost see the characteristic shrug of the shoulders, “Anyways, I’ll be there in half an hour. You’ll be back tomorrow?”

 “Yep.” Rossi confirmed, “Just… make sure he’s okay, all right?”

“Don’t worry, Dave,” the other man replied, his voice soothing and kind, “It was just an argument. Nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.” Rossi said, “Take care.”

They hung up and for a moment Rossi kept the phone in his hand, staring at it and trying to gather up the courage to call Hotch. He failed.

Because even though he was pretty convinced Hotch hadn’t meant what he had said, there was some nagging doubt and if Hotch really felt that way… A phone call would only make things worse.

What was probably the worst was that Rossi had no idea why Hotch had suddenly lost his temper so completely. Because while the young man could often snap some pretty nasty things when he was feeling cornered, he was rarely truly angry and hurtful and the accusations he had hurled at Rossi today had been something better directed at a suspect.

Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered Rossi. Being with the BAU had given him a thick skin against insults and he could normally let them just bounce off, even when they weren’t coming from sick psychos. But Hotch’s implications had hurt, damn it, and Rossi’s most natural response to hurt was anger.

Hotch had been a brat the last few days. There was no other way to describe it. He’d even managed to piss off Jason Gideon, who normally floundered around and made hippies look violent. The kid had been rude, mouthy, annoyed, annoy _ing_ and just generally intolerable. Rossi had called him on it, of course, and told him that if he didn't shape up he could expect a spanking as soon as they got back. He didn’t think Hotch had quite believed him, and he had briefly toyed with the idea of punishing the kid straight away but the walls of the cheap motel were too thin. 

And Hotch hadn’t shaped up. If anything, he’d gotten worse, and his actions the final day of the investigation had had him being dragged back to the motel by his upper arm by Gideon, who didn’t look entirely opposed to the idea of spanking Hotch himself. Rossi had managed to calm him down enough to get the story out of him, while Hotch waited in the hotel room. Apparently, they had been about to interview some member of a seriously criminal motorcycle gang, discussing the best way of doing so without being ripped to pieces by his companions, when Hotch had tired of the discussion and entered the biker gang’s locale and more or less challenged the whole gang to a physical confrontation. It had taken all of Gideon’s considerable skill as a negotiator to get them out of there in one piece.

So Rossi hadn’t thought that the news that he would be punished would come as any surprise to Hotch and that was partly why the young man’s strong reaction was surprising. He’d grown used to some anger from Hotch if he was unexpectedly told he’d be punished, not that it was something that happened very often, but when he knew what was to be expected he was usually pretty calm.

Not this time, though. As soon as they were through the door to Rossi’s cabin, Hotch had begun snapping at him, to start with only demanding why he was there.

“What the hell are we doing, Dave?” he’d demanded, arms crossed over his chest, “There is work to do, and whereas you might be willing to ignore that, I’m not.”

For a moment, Rossi had been too stunned by this obvious defiance to answer, but then he’d glared at Hotch. “And whereas you might be willing to ignore your behavior over the last few days, I’m not,” he echoed the younger man’s words, “I warned you about keeping up the attitude, and instead of changing it you go and risk you life? You thought there’d be no consequences?”

Hotch snorted. “So fire me,” he said coldly. Rossi gave him an incredulous look. Had the kid suddenly been struck by amnesia?

“I’m not gonna fire you,” he snapped, “I’m gonna spank you.”

And to Rossi’s surprise, Hotch had laughed at that; a derisive, antagonistic laugh. “Of course!” he said, “Hitting me. Best way to handle me, isn’t it? Well, you aren’t the first one to think so.”

Rossi actually physically flinched at that. It wasn’t just the badly hidden insinuation that Rossi was like Hotch’s father; it was the tone the accusation was delivered in. Cold, professional and without much emotion at all. Frowning, Rossi studied the younger man intently. He was upset, but he didn’t appear to be truly angry or hateful; just upset. Still, the words hurt and Rossi had to bite back the urge to shout back at Hotch.

“Aaron, we’ve been over this,” he said instead, as calmly as he could. Hotch nodded, but the sarcastic expression on his face remained and he pressed his lips together tightly.

“Yes, we have, haven’t we? And as I recall it usually involved you hitting me. Is that how you solve _all_ your problems or is it just me?”

And at that Rossi snapped. It didn’t matter that he was pretty certain that Hotch didn’t mean what he was saying or even reflecting on it; the implication hurt and knowing that he would say something he’d regret if he stayed in Hotch’s presence, Rossi had left as fast as he could after that. When he reached the car he heard Hotch call out after him, but he was too upset to register the words and he didn’t bother to stop and listen.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Leroy noticed when he reached Rossi’s cabin was the fact that Hotch was sitting on the porch, curled up like a child trying to hide. Dressed in nothing but his suit, in 40 degrees. For a moment he was uncertain whether he should be annoyed or concerned, but as soon as he noticed that the kid was shaking concern took the overhand and he hurried out of his car.

“Hey, Aaron,” he said softly, “Why are you sitting out here in the cold?”

The young man looked up at him, eyes red and puffy, face tear-streaked and to Leroy’s distress his lips were beginning to take on a blue tinge. Leroy sighed deeply.

“Okay, kid, let’s get you inside.”

Hotch’s lower lip began to tremble in a very unsettlingly childish manner. “I don’t think Dave wants me in his house,” he whispered. Leroy frowned. For a moment he considered humoring Hotch; talking to him rather than just dragging him inside, but then a shudder shook Hotch’s, in Leroy’s mind, too thin body and he abandoned that idea.

“Nonsense. Let’s go!” he said, making sure his voice was still gentle, and took the man’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “You’ll freeze to death and then I’d have to hide the corpse and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, eh? Besides, I don’t think Jo would let me inside if you died and that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

He kept up his meaningless monologue as he led Hotch into the house, all the time rubbing the young man’s arms. Hotch, to Leroy’s despair, kept shaking and crying softly. He liked Hotch, he really did, but comforting him was Rossi’s department.

“Calm down, Aaron…” he said, “Everything will be all right.”

Still crying, Hotch shook his head almost violently. “No, it won’t!” he argued and he sounded so convinced that for a moment Leroy wondered if perhaps the situation was more serious than he’d thought. “I said awful things. I hurt him.”

“Aaron…” Leroy said slowly. Sometimes he forgot how young Hotch actually was; normally the agent acted so mature and old that it was easy to forget that he wasn’t even thirty. “You’re going to be okay. Trust me.”

Hotch didn’t reply, but it didn’t take a profiler to tell from the hard set of his jaw that the young man wasn’t convinced. So deciding to leave the emotional mending for later, Leroy set about preventing Hotch from catching pneumonia.   

Dragging Hotch behind him he went to the bathroom and began drawing a bath. Hotch just regarded him silently and his almost apathetic state was beginning to worry Leroy seriously. He considered calling Rossi back, because at least then he’d get a reaction out of Hotch, but then he remembered how strained his friend’s voice had sounded and he decided to give him at the very least a few hours.

“Get in the bath,” Leroy ordered, “You need to get warm. I’ll go and get you something more comfortable to wear.”

He almost thought Hotch would argue, but he simply nodded and, somewhat awkwardly, began to take off his suit jacket. Knowing that Hotch didn’t like undressing in front of others, Leroy left him to see if he could locate some warmer clothes. Ruffling through Rossi’s drawers he quickly found what he was looking for; a large sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pants, which he was actually pretty sure belonged to him and not Rossi. He also grabbed a pair of knitted woolen socks before heading back to Hotch, who had obediently gotten into the bathtub and was now staring despondently at Rossi’s tiled walls.

“Hey,” Leroy greeted him softly, feeling, perhaps irrationally, a bit like he was dealing with a frightened animal, “Change into these and join me in twenty minutes or so, will you?”

He got a nod as answer and deciding that that was sufficient he smiled at the kid before leaving and heading for Rossi’s kitchen. He’d planned on cooking something but as he went through the cupboards the task seemed far too difficult and instead he checked the freezer and with satisfaction noted that yes, there was ice cream there. With a small exhausted sigh, he took a seat on the sofa in the living room and leant back. This was why he’d never had kids on his own.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Hotch entered the room; towel in hand and his hair still wet. He looked a bit less like a lost little boy than before, but he was far from being able to frighten UnSubs. Glancing up at Leroy form under the wet bangs covering his forehead, almost shyly, he cleared his throat.

“I should leave,” he said quietly. Leroy snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he ordered, and seeing Hotch frown and opening his mouth to, probably, argue he continued quickly. “Dry your hair.”

Hotch frowned, but obeyed. As he dried his hair, Leroy gave him a once-over; out of habit, more than anything. With some annoyance he noticed that the kid wasn’t wearing the socks he’d given him. 

“And go do as you were told,” he added. For a moment Hotch looked confused, but then he followed Leroy’s gaze down to his feet.

“Oh…” he said, “I… they won’t fit in my shoes.”

 “You won’t be needing your shoes for a while now, so that’s all right,” Leroy said, “Go put them on.”

The young man hesitated, his face set in a frown and biting his lower lip slightly. Then he shook his head. “No. I’m leaving.”

Leroy frowned as well. Normally, Hotch obeyed him fairly unquestionably. He knew that that wasn’t the case with Rossi, from what his friend told him, but he he’d thought that the almost juvenile defiance Hotch sometimes displayed around Rossi was limited to Rossi.

“I wasn’t making a suggestion,” he said. For a moment, Hotch seemed a bit flustered at that, but then he recovered his resolve and raised his chin slightly.

“And I wasn’t asking permission, merely informing you,” he retorted and Leroy had to hide a smile, because despite of the self-assured words Hotch’s tone and body language betrayed that he wasn’t so much stating facts as trying to convince himself.

“Really?” Leroy asked, eyebrow raised. Hotch hesitated, studying him intently for a moment; probably looking for signs of what Leroy’s intentions were, but then he nodded resolutely.

“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t leave, and Leroy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. The kid obviously hoped he’d be stopped; just pushing to see if Leroy really wanted him here. He had watched Rossi do more or less the same thing back with their boss, except the Italian man had been considerably more dramatic; the argument had involved broken china. And if he was entirely honest, he supposed that maybe he had done it himself as well.

“Then I think you should reconsider,” he ordered calmly, “Preferably in that corner over there.”

He indicated one of the empty corners of the rooms with his hand. Hotch frowned at him.

“No,” he said. With a sigh, Leroy got up. On the way to the cabin, he had done some thinking. If Hotch had upset Rossi that badly, he had probably said something that merited punishment, and it should probably not be handled by Rossi. Not that Leroy didn’t trust Rossi to be fair; it was just that it was better for a third party to handle it. However, Leroy shied away from the thought of spanking Hotch, or anyone really, and he had more or less decided not to. His decision had been strengthened when he found Hotch crying, but now…

He decisively walked over to the kid and grabbed his arm firmly before propelling him towards the corner, more or less pushing him forwards.

“That wasn’t a suggestion either,” he said and with that he firmly placed the young man in the corner. As soon as he let go of Hotch’s arm, the kid spun around and glared at him.

“Alex,” he said and Leroy recognized the ‘I’m-trying-to-reasonable-and-adult’-tone in his voice, “This is ridiculous. I want to leave.”

Leroy simply patiently turned him around again, this time emphasizing his actions with a smack to Hotch’s backside.

“Don’t argue with me,” he ordered. For a moment Hotch remained tense under his grip, but then younger man relaxed with a sigh and rested his head against the wall.

“How long do you want me to stand here?” he asked, resignation obvious in his voice and Leroy wasn’t sure whether he should be happy that he had gotten Hotch’s compliance so easily or worried the kid didn’t put up more of a fight.

“Until you’ve reconsidered what things you need my permission for.”

“Oh…” Hotch replied, sounding a bit surprised at that, and then he cleared his throat and continued a bit awkwardly. “That’s not necessary… Really.”

Leroy frowned. “Well, to me it sounded very much like you just told me that you didn’t need my permission for something that I definitely think you do need my permission for. Tell me why it then isn’t necessary that you reconsider?”

Hotch sighed, managing to sound quite exasperated. “You don’t understand,” he whined. Leroy, deciding that maybe standing hovering just behind the young man wasn’t the most comforting thing he could be doing, took a step back and leant against the wall.

“No?” he asked, “Please explain then.”

With his jaw set so tightly Leroy suspected it had to be painful, Hotch turned around and this time Leroy didn’t bother correcting him.

“I was a jerk to him, Alex,” Hotch said, “A complete bastard. I doubt he wants me to be here when he comes back.”

Tilting his head, Leroy raised an eyebrow in question. “Really?” he drawled, “Then tell me; why do you think I’m here?”

“What do you…” Hotch began, but then he broke himself off and grimaced in understanding. “Oh. Dave called you?”

“Very good,” Leroy said, only letting a hint of sarcasm enter his voice, “And I can assure you he didn’t ask me to throw you out.”

He paused for a moment, partly to debate his next move and partly to let the kid stew a bit. The latter with more success than the former; Hotch was nervously weighing on his feet and looking apprehensively at Leroy, but Leroy’s plans for the immediate future remained hazy. So he just shrugged and gestured for Hotch to follow him back to the couch.

“Take a seat,” he ordered and after seeing that Hotch obeyed he fetched the socks that Hotch had ignored putting on and handed them to the young man who with a slight blush obeyed the unspoken order to put them on. Then he looked up expectantly at Leroy; sitting perfectly straight and hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Tell me what you told Dave to upset him so,” Leroy said.

Hotch’s gaze dropped almost comically fast and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to.”

“Aaron…” Leroy said warningly, deciding that this evasion-game had gone on long enough for the evening, “ _Again_ , I wasn’t asking. You know that, so let me be very clear on one thing. I tell you what to do, you do it. That’s how it works, all right?”

“I…” Hotch began, frowning, “That’s not… it’s… No!”

Apparently, Leroy noted with some amusement, Hotch’s verbal skills didn’t extend to when he was being given straightforward orders in an authoritative enough tone. And luckily enough for him, Leroy had been in the military long enough to be able to manage quite an impressive drill-sergeant impression.

“The correct answer would be ‘yes, sir’,” Leroy reprimanded him, “Want to try again?”

“Look…” Hotch said, raising his head to look Leroy in the eye and Leroy immediately saw the hint of annoyance in the young man’s face, “You aren’t my boss. I respect you, but…”

He broke himself off at that, probably because he didn’t know what to say.

“But what?” Leroy pressed him. Hotch just pressed his lips together tightly and looked down again, shaking his head. “Aaron?”

For a moment it looked as if Hotch would just stay silent, refusing to look up, but then he made a small grimace and looked up, his expression half angry half worried and pleading. “Okay, okay!” he snapped, “I basically told him that he was abusing me. Still think he wants me to be here when he comes back? _Sir_.”

Leroy flinched internally. No wonder Rossi had been upset. It was possible that Hotch didn’t know it, but one of Rossi’s greatest fears was that he was damaging the kid with his discipline. Leroy had tried pointing out that Hotch’s actions repeatedly told him that that wasn’t the case and Rossi knew it, most of the time, but being told the opposite by Hotch would hurt and would probably bring doubts to the surface.

When Leroy didn't say anything for a moment, worry seemed to take the overhand over anger in Hotch and the kid bit his lip and gazed up at Leroy, looking like an apprehensive child.

“Sir..?” he ventured after a while, sounding very small, “I-I’ll just leave, then.”

Snapping out of his thoughts to see Hotch getting up and about to leave, Leroy rolled his eyes. “Pour l’amour de Dieu…” he muttered to himself before addressing Hotch, “Come here!”

With a confused frown, Hotch obeyed, slowly walking over to Leroy and studying him warily. Leroy motioned for him to take a seat next to him and when the young man was seated he continued.

“Dave isn’t really that angry with you,” he said, “He’s just upset. He’ll be back tomorrow, as soon as he’s calmed down, and though I imagine you’ll discuss it and he’ll want to know why you decided to act like a… jerk, you will be fine. Anyway, tomorrow you’ll deal with Dave, but I don’t think he will want to punish you for being insulting toward him, so I think I will punish you for that right now.”

For a moment Hotch was silent before he caught on to what Leroy had said and his eyes widened in a way that took several years of his appearance. “You mean…” he started before breaking off and gulping audibly, “You mean you want to spank me?”

Leroy shrugged. “’Want’ is a strong word,” he said, “But basically, yes. I imagine you’ll be more comfortable over the sofa than my lap?”

Hotch blushed, but nodded and Leroy decided that it was better to get it over with before he had time to think and begin to protest. So he hauled the young man up by the arm and dragged him over to the back of the sofa before pushing him down, keeping a firm hand on the small of his back. Steeling himself, trying to convince himself that he had faced much worse challenges than spanking someone and come out alive of it, he brought his hand down and had to hide a wince at how loud the following smack was. He realized he didn’t give Rossi nearly enough credit for this.

Knowing that he more than likely would be unable to maintain his resolve for very long, Leroy hurriedly covered Hotch’s backside in firm smacks. He had very little idea of what would constitute a fair spanking in this case; he had never been really spanked since he was very little. Whenever his and Rossi’s former boss had felt it was necessary to reprimand him, his misdeeds had always been spectacular enough for the rather old-fashioned and hard-as-nails marine him to use his belt.

Drawing on that, rather limited, experience, Leroy began questioning Hotch. “So, why are you being punished?”

“Because I said those things to Dave,” Hotch replied and although his voice was still even there was some strain to it. “I hurt him.”

“Precisely. You aren’t allowed to be hurtful no matter what else is going on with you, understood?”

He thought he heard Hotch stifle a sob, but as he replied there was little trace of tears in his voice. “I understand,” he said. Hating the thought of actually making Hotch cry, Leroy finished up the spanking with a few hard swats. He had a feeling that he might be too lenient, but as Hotch had been completely devastated when he got there he didn't have the heart to be any harder. With a small grimace he realized that he’d never be a very good disciplinarian.

Realizing that the spanking had stopped, Hotch got up and turned to Leroy. Feeling a bit guilty for it, Leroy couldn’t help but think that the kid was rather adorable when his eyes were widened and moist and his face had that lost-little-boy expression. Adorable in a somewhat painful way, however, and Leroy hated the fact that he had been the cause of some of those tears. Rossi was the one who was supposed to discipline the kid. He had no problems lecturing and scolding, but the whole idea of knowingly bringing Hotch to tears made him shy away.

If he had intended to continue being stern and send Hotch to bed without desert or something like it, making sure the kid really got that what he’d done wasn’t acceptable, he failed miserably. Because the tears in Hotch’s eyes made him feel like an absolute monster and, again silently reminding himself to stop complaining when Rossi stole his best whiskey after dealing with the kid, he wanted nothing more than to cover his face with kisses and make everything all right immediately. His sense of propriety, however, stopped him from that so instead he pulled Hotch into a hug and kissed him on the top of his head, using his hand to dry away the tears as softly as he could.

“Shh…” he muttered, a pleading note in his voice, “Everything’s going to be all right. Don’t cry.”

To his surprise, Hotch actually laughed a little at that and gave him a teary smile. “Anyone would think you’d tried to kill me,” he said, “It’s not that bad.”

And although Hotch did sound fairly convincing, Leroy didn’t believe him for a moment. But he also realized that he probably couldn’t do much to make things better; Rossi was needed for that.

“I’m not sure I believe you, mon cher,” he muttered, “but let’s pretend I do. Sit down and I’ll get you some ice cream.”

Hotch managed another smile through his now almost disappeared tears. “Thanks”, he said, “But for the record, I don’t think you’re supposed to reward me for being punished.”

Leroy grinned at him, and kissed him lightly on the top of his head a final time before turning to the kitchen. “I’m French,” he said jokingly, “I’m allowed to be inconsistent.”

 

* * *

 

Hotch didn’t like admitting it, but he was nervous about facing Rossi. Not only because of what he’d said the night before, but also because he was pretty certain the older man was going to punish him. Leroy, who had stayed the night, seemed mostly amused by the fact that he had a hard time sitting still at the table; getting up every five minutes to look out the window or fiddling with his phone considering whether to call Rossi or not.

“Hotch,” he said patiently, “You look like you’re about to face an execution squad. Relax.”

Sitting down by the table once again and giving Leroy a small smile he rubbed his neck, somewhat embarrassedly. “Easy for you to say.”

The older man smirked and raised his cup of coffee in mock salute. “I’d offer you some brandy to calm your nerves but Dave and Jo would never forgive me for corrupting you,” he said.

With a deep sigh, Hotch nodded. He really did understand the man’s point; getting himself agitated wasn’t doing anyone any good, and he would be considerably better equipped to handle the coming confrontation if he was calm.

“I’m trying to be calm,” he said, feeling the need to let Leroy know that he wasn’t being a nervous wreck on purpose. “But… well, I’m nervous.”

“You don’t say,” Leroy drawled, but his almost indulgent smile softened the sting of the words and Hotch found himself smiling abashedly in return. “Everything’s going to work out fine.”

Hotch nodded, but he wasn’t convinced and apparently Leroy could tell, because he sighed and continued. “Look; I’ve nearly broken Dave’s jaw and we got out of it unharmed. Well, mostly…”

“Really?” Hotch asked, not sure if he should be comforted or alarmed by this, “That’s a story I’d like to hear.”

Leroy grimaced and shrugged exaggeratedly. “You’ll have to get me a bit drunk first.”

“At nine in the morning?” Hotch retorted, “You _are_ corrupted.”

With a small laugh, Leroy opened his mouth to reply to that, but was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up outside the house. Hotch immediately stood up and hurried over to the door, but stopped just short of opening it. However, he didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened; within seconds it was forcefully thrown open and Rossi entered.

“Hi,” Hotch greeted him shyly, not quite meeting his gaze.

“’Morning,” Rossi responded, “How’re you doing?”

“Fine.”

The ensuing silence was awkward, to put it kindly, and it seemed that Rossi was no more certain how to proceed than Hotch was, although he did manage to look at Hotch instead of the floor. To Hotch’s relief, they were saved by Leroy joining them.

“Good morning,” he greeted Rossi who replied with a small nod, “We should talk before I leave.”

Rossi nodded his acceptance and with a small sigh, of weariness, Hotch thought, he turned to Hotch and gestured for the living room. “Corner,” he ordered quietly and Hotch obeyed immediately. Mostly because Rossi looked so very tired.

Glancing behind him, he saw Rossi and Leroy standing closely together; Leroy talking animatedly but quietly while Rossi listened intently. They kept talking for what seemed like ages, though Leroy did most of the talking, before Leroy finally departed with a pat to Rossi’s shoulder.

Hotch quickly turned his head so he was facing the corner, not wanting to annoy Rossi more than he had to. Fortunately, the older man didn’t seem to care particularly and simply called him over as soon as he entered.

“Hotch, come over here.”

Knowing his far too hurried steps probably looked very undignified but not particularly caring, Hotch obediently took a seat on the sofa, opposite Rossi. Daring a shy look at the older man, he winced internally at how tired Rossi looked, knowing that he was the cause. Feeling his throat constricting with guilt and shame, tears began to prickle at the back of his eyelids.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” he said quickly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything of what I said. I know that doesn’t make it any better, and I’m prepared to…”

“Kid!” Rossi broke him off, raising his hand slightly. “I already sort of knew you didn’t mean it, but I’ll admit it’s nice to hear you say it.”

Hotch bit his lip in hesitation, but nodded. “Still, it’s inexcusable,” he said quietly, “I fully understand if you never want to see me again.”

Afraid of what he might see, Hotch refused to look up at Rossi. Leroy’s words hadn’t really managed to convince him; he was still deathly afraid that this was the end, that Rossi would chuck him out the door and never speak to him again.

“Son…” Rossi said gently, and the unexpected term caused Hotch’s head to snap up and stare in complete surprise at Rossi. “You didn’t try to kill me. Alex already punished you. We’re okay, all right?”

Disbelievingly, Hotch shook his head. “No, Dave,” he said, “It doesn’t work like that. I was a jerk. You can’t just… forgive me.”

Rossi frowned. “First of all, I can do whatever the hell I want,” he said and Hotch was actually inclined to believe him, “And second of all, I’m not “just” forgiving you. You were punished.”

“Not enough!” Hotch retorted, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. Why didn’t Rossi understand that things couldn’t just go back to being perfectly all right after just a few words? It didn’t work like that.

“Hotch,” Rossi broke him off, sounding stern, “It’s not up to you to decide what is sufficient punishment.”

“Dave…” Hotch countered, not caring that he was whining, because he had to make Rossi understand, “It was barely a… a spanking. He smacked me a few times. That’s not enough for what I said.”

“What do you want me to do?” Rossi demanded, spreading his hands in exasperation, “Wash your mouth out with soap, or what? I’m telling you; you were punished and now you’re forgiven. It’s as simple as that.”

Hotch half wanted to continue pushing, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that Rossi wouldn’t go through on his suggestion and that was something he had no wish to experience. So he just hung his head and sighed deeply.

“Whatever you say,” he muttered surly.

“Hey! Attitude.”

A flush appeared on Hotch’s cheeks and he lowered his gaze. “Sorry” he said. He heard Rossi sigh, and for a moment he wondered if he’d done something wrong that he hadn’t thought of, but then the older man took a seat next to him and put a warm arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“Aaron,” Rossi said, his mouth a bit too close to Hotch’s ear, “Yes, you hurt me and yes, I was angry, but I already told you that I forgive you. What more do you want?”

Allowing himself to relax against Rossi, Hotch sighed in resignation. “I don’t know…” he said, “I just… Nothing, I guess. Are you sure you aren’t angry?”

“Yeah, kid, I’m sure,” Rossi assured him and pulled him closer into a proper embrace. For a moment, Hotch was reluctant to accept it; feeling that he didn’t deserve to be comforted by the man he’d hurt, but then he more or less resigned himself to the fact that Rossi could probably decide for himself whether he was still angry and hurt or not.

“I’m sorry,” he added anyway, for good measure, and he suddenly couldn’t help the small sob that made its way up his throat and the tears in his eyes. Because Rossi wasn’t supposed to be kind, not after something like this. “I really am.”

He heard Rossi sigh and for a moment he tensed as he felt the older man move, but then he realized that the only thing he was doing was moving one hand to rub his back.

“I know.” Rossi muttered. “I know. But it’s okay now. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

“I… all right. I’ll try.”

That was really all Hotch could promise, because it wasn’t as if he could just tell the guilt to go away. But Rossi seemed satisfied with that and for a moment they sat in silence, before Rossi cleared his throat.

“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been acting like a complete brat?” he asked and though the question sounded sincere Hotch knew very well that it was an order more than anything. He moved away from Rossi, slipping out from under his arm, because this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in such a vulnerable position and folded his hands in his lap in an attempt to soothe his nerves.

“Not really,” he mumbled which earned him nothing but a scoff and, having already known that it wouldn’t be an acceptable answer, Hotch continued. “I don’t know.”

It was a lie of course, and he doubted that Rossi would buy it, but at least it gave him time to sort out the chaos in his mind.

“Hotch.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Your whole behavior the last few days has been ridiculous, so don’t worry.”

Hotch actually smiled a little at that. If he didn’t know from experience that Rossi could actually be very comforting when he wanted to, he would never have believed it. But he didn’t reply, because voicing those childish insecurities wasn’t something he wanted to do.

“That makes me feel so much better,” he said instead, hoping that the continued levity would distract Rossi form pursuing this line of inquiry. It didn't.

“You can feel better later. Right now you should tell me what the hell the problem is.”

Hotch sighed. He should have known there was no way he’d get out of talking. Still, it’d been worth a try and the next strategy was as well.

“Please, Dave…”

Pleading. Which Hotch normally hated, because it was too much a show of weakness, but at the moment he’d use any means he could to get out of confessing what a complete fool he had been.

“Hotch,” Rossi said, with mock patience, “Do I ever fall for those pretty eyes of yours?”

“I guess not…” Hotch mumbled with another deep sigh. He really wasn’t getting out of telling Rossi. “Don’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

With a deep breath, Hotch began, but quickly found that he really had no idea of how to phrase what he had been thinking. Mostly because he hadn’t been thinking that much; most of that had been done in retrospect on Rossi’s porch. And most of those thoughts he didn’t want to repeat out loud, because Rossi had a strange thing about Hotch’s guilt.

“You know you said that you sort of… a little bit… feel like… my father?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We-ell…” Hotch dragged out, desperately trying to find a way of phrasing this. Not finding any, he decided to just proceed as slowly as possible and hope that Rossi caught on before he had to make any too difficult confessions. After all, the man was a profiler. “I don’t have very good experience with fathers.”

“I know,” Rossi said calmly, though he couldn’t quite suppress the puzzlement in his voice. Hotch raised a hand to rub tiredly at his eyes, at the same time effectively hiding his face from Rossi, and turned his head away. Anything to get further away from the emotionally charged conversation.

“I guess I wanted to figure out if you would be the same if I pushed you far enough,” he mumbled quietly, half hoping that Rossi didn’t hear him and half dreading it, because then he’d have to repeat himself.

“See if pissing me off enough made me beat you?” Rossi clarified, and Hotch couldn’t quite identify the emotions in his voice. Anger? He didn’t think so, but he was afraid of it and he supposed that made him prone to hearing signs of it. There was definitely some sadness, or worry, or something very similar; that was easy to both identify and figure out the cause of. Of course Rossi wouldn’t like being even remotely associated with anyone abusive. And strange as it was, there was a distinct touch of amusement, which Hotch couldn’t find any possible reason for.

“I guess,” Hotch confirmed quietly but, still wary that there had in fact been anger in the older man’s voice, didn’t look up.

“Oh” was all Rossi said for a moment. Then he snorted and Hotch saw him smirking and shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. “Well, let me give you a tip; next time you wanna piss me off, skip the part where you nearly get yourself beaten to a pulp by hooligans. That way you’ll be able to sit comfortably when I lecture you about the appropriate way of speaking to your boss.”

Hotch blushed and nervously rubbed his neck, making a small grimace. “Yeah, that…” he said, “It wasn’t really as bad as Gideon made it sound.”

He snuck a sideways look at Rossi to see how that was received. Not very well, it seemed; Rossi raised his eyebrows and nodded in pretend thoughtfulness. Hotch mentally cursed himself. Trying to talk himself out of trouble rarely worked and most of the time it had the exact opposite effect, so one would think that he had learnt to stop trying by now.

“So Jason was lying?” Rossi asked, sounding genuinely curious but Hotch didn’t need to recognize the small undertone of threat to know that he was really just challenging Hotch to admit that it had in fact been just as bad as Gideon had said.

“No,” he said, “He was just… eh… mistaken?”

His voice almost broke over the last word, because he knew very well that he was pushing Rossi when he should instead be apologizing, but he just couldn’t seem to let go of his argumentative side. Not that it was working very well; feeling like a ten-year old talking to his stern and disapproving father effectively crushed his ability to formulate coherent arguments.

“Really?” Rossi demanded in a characteristic drawl. “And which part was he mistaken about? The one where you went into that bar? Or the one where you did so without Jason’s approval? Or the one where it is _dangerous to get into fights with biker gangs_?”

“I…” Hotch began in an almost-stutter, but he didn’t have to figure out a way to continue because Rossi broke him off.

“Or maybe he was mistaken in thinking that you’ve been acting like a complete brat the last few days? Because I really don’t think he was, you know. I think he was absolutely right and I also happen to think that there’s no excuse for that kind of rude and disrespectful behavior!”

Hotch didn’t bother hiding the pained expression on his face or the flush that appeared on his face. He hated being accused of being rude and disrespectful. Because that was something he truly didn’t want to be.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly, knowing that Rossi was right and knowing also that he hadn’t really expected not to be punished for his actions. If anything, he had counted on it, assuming Rossi didn’t lose his temper completely and did something else which he didn’t want to think about.

“Ok. No point in stalling,” Rossi said curtly after a moment’s silence, “Pants off.”

Hotch blushed. “Is that necessary?” he asked quietly, not meeting Rossi’s eyes.

“Yes,” was all Rossi gave as answer and the finality of the tone told Hotch that it was pointless to continue arguing. Still blushing, he rose and awkwardly undid the knot holding the flannel pants in place before letting them slide down. The older man gestured for him to come over and, with little help from Hotch who was uncertain what to do, positioned him over his lap and leaving Hotch feeling completely vulnerable.

Before Hotch had time to adjust to his new position, Rossi brought his hand down, making a crisp smacking sound and after a split second the pain registered. Rossi really was rather strong, Hotch noted ruefully.

The man smacked him ten times or so before he began talking, and Hotch was happy about the distraction; it wasn’t that it was really very painful, but having nothing to think about but the fact that his boss was spanking him was far from enjoyable.

“So, tell me what you’re being punished for,” Rossi ordered.

“Eh…” Hotch began, hesitantly, “Going into the house with those bikers?”

“Yes, because it’s what?”

“Dangerous,” Hotch said, knowing that was what Rossi was after. And knowing that it was probably true; it had been some tense minutes when the bikers seemed to debate whether they could let them go without first demonstrating their power physically. With a fresh burst of remorse, Hotch reminded himself to apologize to and thank Gideon.

“Yep. That’s the main thing, Aaron,” Rossi lectured, “I don’t particularly like you being a complete brat to everyone, but I can understand it, considering the circumstances. But putting yourself in danger is never even remotely okay. Got it?”

“Yeah. Got it,” Hotch confirmed through clenched teeth.

“So, there’s that,” Rossi said and if he had been in any other position, Hotch would have snapped at Rossi for his insufferable tone, “and then there’s being rude, disrespectful and disobedient.”

“I’m sorry,” Hotch said, not sure what else there was to say at this point and meaning it, too. Even if he, in his own opinion, had had a good reason for trying to make Rossi angry, he had to admit that it might still not be all that bright.

For what seemed like an eternity, Rossi didn’t say anything and the rhythmical sound of swats filled the room, pain building in Hotch’s backside. It hurt more than it should, but the steady rhythm and there being no way to get away from it and knowing that Rossi was doing it because he cared intensified the pain and soon enough tears escaped from Hotch’s eyes and he drew a ragged breath.

“I get it, Dave” he tried again, not caring that his voice was by now somewhat broken; just wanting the spanking to stop, “I get it and I’m – ah! sorry.”

Rossi didn’t stop; just moved his left hand up and down, stroking Hotch’s back comfortingly and keeping him firmly in place. “I know, kid” he said gently, “We’re soon done.”

And true to his word, Rossi stopped after a few more swats, but he didn’t make any move to help Hotch up so he simply remained where he was, feeling a bit ridiculous about letting the older man rub his back and stroke his hair, but not really caring that much.

“Shh…” Rossi mumbled soothingly, “Everything’s all right. Everything’s fine.”

Hotch didn't really listen to the rest of what was said and when Rossi pulled him up into standing and then into a hug, he accepted gratefully, needing physical contact more than words. His eyes still glassy, he rested his forehead against Rossi’s shoulder and somewhat awkwardly returned the hug. Rossi’s hand soothingly stroked his hair while the man was speaking soothingly, half of it in Italian, Hotch thought, and strangely enough it was comforting even though he didn’t understand a word of it.

After a while, Rossi spoke. “You all right now, kid?”

Not quite trusting himself to sound completely composed yet, Hotch just nodded against the older man’s shoulder. Fortunately, Rossi made no move to break the embrace despite Hotch’s affirmative and when he finally, at least several minutes later, was released from the embrace he had had enough time to calm down enough to present a composed façade. Admittedly, his emotions were still simmering too close to the surface, but he could deal with that.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized a final time, “For everything. And I… I really didn’t mean anything of what I said, Dave.”

Maybe he shouldn’t bring this up after he had already said that he was okay with Rossi’s forgiveness and that things were just fine, but he felt an overwhelming need to make sure that Rossi understood that the hurtful accusations had just been something he’d thrown out in anger.

“I know,” Rossi assured him, patting his shoulder softly, “And we’re okay, but just out of curiosity; why did you say it?”

Hotch blushed and directed his gaze to his feet, moving one hand up to uncomfortably rub his neck. “I wanted to make you angry,” he muttered self-consciously, “and it seemed to work so I just continued. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, you did,” Rossi retorted and Hotch immediately looked up at him, frowning. Wasn’t it Rossi who had said everything was okay? “You wanted to piss me off, and you probably knew the best way was to hurt me.”

Hotch’s frown deepened and he was about to argue, but then he realized that Rossi was probably at least partly right, and he shrugged. “Maybe,” he agreed quietly. “You still aren’t angry?”

Rossi shrugged. “Nah…” he said, “Part of what makes people family is that you can hurt them five ways to hell without getting rid of them.”

Suddenly finding the floor very interesting, Hotch lowered his gaze again and tried to blink away the tears in his eyes, somewhat unwilling to believe that Rossi had meant what he thought and, probably, hoped. The man had, admittedly, said that he viewed Hotch as a son, but that was more abstract and diffuse than actually stating that they _were_ family, Hotch supposed, and therefore he had some difficulty believing that that was what the man meant.

“Family?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting to put too much emotion and hope in the word. Rossi rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, kid” he said, “Family. Thought I made that clear last time.”

A bit embarrassed at the almost exasperated tone in Rossi’s voice, Hotch blushed and began to assure Rossi that he had made it clear and that he was just… Well, he never got that far, because Rossi interrupted him with a hand gesture.

“Look, I don’t really mind having to repeat myself,” he said. Hotch nodded silently, still studying the floor, and swallowed several times to get rid of the lump in his throat. Rossi regarded him for a moment, at least Hotch thought he did, before he spoke again.

“Look at me,” he ordered and Hotch obeyed, with only a little reluctance, finding himself looking into Rossi’s kind eyes. “You okay, now?”

 “Yeah,” Hotch said, smiling weakly. Rossi too smiled, though it was bordering on a smirk, and reached out a hand to ruffle Hotch’s hair, which Hotch unsuccessfully tried to dodge.

“Good boy,” Rossi said, “But just so we’re clear; if you act like you’ve been doing again, I won’t go as easy on you.”

“Got it,” Hotch confirmed, not pointing out that he really didn't think Rossi had been easy on him this time.

“Good” Rossi said, before pausing for a moment, a small grin appearing on his face. “So… there any ice cream left?”

 


End file.
